Selene: A disturbing DS Jason Smith thriller (A DS Jason Smith Thriller Book 6)

by Stewart Giles

  He couldn’t stop himself. He smiled and ran his finger over the two days of stubble on his top lip.

  Brownhill glared at him.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she turned and walked out of the station.

  “You’re terrible,” Baldwin said when Brownhill was gone.

  “I think I preferred her with the moustache,” Smith said. “She looks almost female now, if you like that sort of thing.”

  “Webber seems to like it,” Baldwin said.

  Grant Webber was the head of forensics. He and DI Brownhill had been in a relationship for a few months.

  “Webber deals with blood samples and fingerprints all day. Shrek would seem attractive after that. I’m going to check my emails.”

  He walked down the corridor towards his office. The place was eerily quiet. Smith didn’t like it one little bit. It was as though all the criminals in York had taken a break over the festive season. He went inside his office and turned on the computer. While he waited for it to boot up, he looked at the photographs on the wall above his desk. He’d put them up when he had returned to work after the stabbing. One was of his sister Laura. It had been taken when she was eight years old. She was standing on the beach in Fremantle with the ocean behind her. She had a perfect smile on her face. The other photograph was also taken in Fremantle. Lucy Maclean was standing by the ocean. She was pulling a face and sticking her tongue out. Smith and Lucy had become close after the death of her husband. She had been killed by a maniac who was out for revenge for something Smith’s father did years earlier. At first, Smith didn’t know why he had hung the photographs on the wall but afterwards he realised he was starting to come to terms with his own mortality.

  I’m twenty eight years old, he thought, and I’ve stared death in the face far too many times.

  Smith opened up his emails. There were just three new messages. One was from Superintendant Jeremy Smyth reminding him of the upcoming crime stats presentation in January. Smyth insisted that everyone should attend this annual bore fest. Smith deleted the e mail. The second message was to inform him that a sum of two million dollars had been allocated to him by a government official in Nigeria. All Smith had to do was pay the administration fee. Smith smiled.

  Does anybody ever fall for this crap? He thought.

  The third email was from an unknown address. Smith opened it. The main body of the email consisted of just four words, ‘Beware the full moon.’

  “I thought you were off today,” Yang Chu stood in the doorway.

  He was eating a chocolate bar.

  “I am,” Smith deleted the remaining two e mails. “I was going mad at home. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m supposed to be on duty, but there’s bugger all happening.”

  Yang Chu had joined the team halfway through the Harlequin murder investigation. His father was Vietnamese but Yang Chu had been born in York. Smith thought he was much more of a Yorkshireman that he would ever be. In the few weeks Smith had worked with yang Chu he had proven to be a very competent detective.

  “How’s the stomach?” Yang Chu said.

  “Still sore. How’s the chest?”

  “Hundred percent,” Yang Chu said.

  He’d been stabbed in the chest minutes before Smith was stabbed. An instant bond had been formed and Yang Chu and Smith had been friends ever since. In fact, apart from DC Whitton, Yang Chu was the only other person he considered a friend.

  “I need some advice Sarge,” Yang Chu said.

  “Fire away,” Smith said.

  “It’s a bit personal.”

  “Then you’re definitely speaking to the wrong person. In case you haven’t noticed, my personal life isn’t exactly thriving at the moment.”

  “It’s about Whitton.”

  “Don’t do it,” Smith knew what was coming.

  “You don’t know what I’m going to ask yet.”

  “Yang Chu,” Smith said. “Take a piece of advice. We’ve got a bloody good team at the moment. Best we’ve ever had. Ok, Bridge can be a bit erratic at times and Brownhill is an acquired taste but we work well together. Don’t ruin it by letting your emotions get the better of you.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “Yes you can, go home and take a cold shower. If that doesn’t work, take another one. That’s an order.”

  “I think she likes me too,” Yang Chu wasn’t giving up.

  “Forget about it,” Smith said. “Relationships in this job don’t work. That’s just the way it is.”

  “What about Webber and Brownhill?”

  “They’re both freaks. They’re not normal. They deserve each other.”

  Smith stood up.

  “I’m going home, I’m going to have a few beers and watch a new ACDC concert on my ridiculously loud home theatre system. The neighbours are going to love it. Forget about Whitton. She’ll eat you alive anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow. Let’s hope tomorrow throws us something juicy to work on.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Monday 27 December 2010

  The woman and the small girl walked up the stairs to the flat above the Chinese takeaway on Mary Gate. The woman walked tentatively as though afraid of stepping on something undesirable. The smell on the stairwell was a mixture of stale sweat and something else - something the woman didn’t want to think about.

  “How can Daddy live in a place like this?” The young girl said. “It smells funny.”

  “Your Daddy is still trying to get back on his feet.”

  They reached the top of the stairs and the woman knocked on a door that was badly in need of a coat of paint.

  There was no answer.

  She knocked again.

  “Come on,” she said. “Answer the door.”

  You’d better have bought the kid a bloody present, she thought.

  There was no sound from inside the room. The woman took out her phone and dialled a number. The familiar drone of the answering service was heard.

  ‘The person you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.’

  The woman waited for the beep.

  “Christopher,” she always used his full name when she was angry with him. “Where are you? We’re standing outside your flat.”

  She rang off and knocked on the door again.

  Nothing.

  “It’s alright Mummy,” the little girl said. “Maybe he forgot.”

  “It’s not alright baby,” the woman dialled the number again.

  “Christopher,” she said after the beep. “One day. One bloody day and you can’t even be bothered to show up. It’s Christmas and you can’t even spend one day with your daughter. She was looking forward to it if you even care.”

  She ended the call.

  “Come on,” she said to the girl. “I’ll take you for a milkshake.”

  “Maybe he had to work,” the girl suggested.

  “Let’s go.”

  They were about to walk back down the filthy stairs when the woman heard a noise from inside the flat. It was a strange beeping sound - the sound of a voice message being received on a mobile phone. She turned round and banged on the door.

  “Christopher,” she shouted. “Are you in there?”

  She knew her ex-husband never went anywhere without his phone. He was obsessive about it.

  “Christopher,” she shouted again. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. The terms were very clear and you’ve broken them.”

  Another beep was heard from inside the flat.

  The woman tried the door handle. The door was unlocked. She pushed the door open and was met with the stench of stale whisky and cheap perfume.

  He’s drunk, she thought, and he definitely doesn’t wear perfume. He’s got someone in there with him.

  “Wait here baby,” she said to the girl. “I just want to have a word with Daddy.”

  “But I want to see him.”

  “Wait here.”

  The tone of her mothe
r’s voice told her it was pointless arguing.

  Christopher Riley was lying face down on the bed in the middle of the room. His arms were by his side. The woman knew straight away that something was wrong. In the years they had been married, Christopher always slept on his back. She slowly walked towards the bed. A wrapped Christmas present was on the floor next to it. The name ‘Maggie’ was written on a plain white tag.

  “Chris,” she said.

  The man on the bed didn’t move.

  “Christopher,” she said, louder this time.

  She touched one of his hands and flinched. It was cold.

  “Can I come inside?” A voice was heard from the doorway.

  “Maggie. Stay there.”

  She looked at the lifeless body lying on the bed. She picked up one of her ex-husband’s hands and felt for a pulse. Four years working as a nurse in the operating theatre told her that it was futile but she had to know anyway. There was nothing.

  The woman sat on the edge of the bed and took out her mobile phone. She felt strangely calm considering her ex-husband was lying dead a few feet away from her. They’d been together for eight years and now he was dead.

  “Police,” she said. “My name is Emily Riley. My ex-husband is dead.”

  She gave them the address and rang off. She stood up, left the flat and closed the door behind her.

  “Daddy’s not here,” she said to her daughter. “Let’s go and get a milkshake.”

  “He promised. He said he would get me the Barbie with the racing car.”

  Emily Riley didn’t know what to say. She took Maggie’s hand and led her down the stairs.

  Fifteen minutes later a red Ford Escort parked outside the Chinese restaurant and two men got out. Emily and Maggie were standing in the doorway of the shop next door sheltering from the wind.

  “Mrs Riley?” The taller of the two men asked. “DS Smith, and this is DC Yang Chu. Are you the one who called us?”

  “Wait here,” Emily said to Maggie.

  She nodded to Smith and Yang Chu and led them down the street. She stopped outside a deserted night club.

  “I don’t want Maggie to know anything yet. I’ll break the news to her in my own time.”

  “You said your ex-husband is dead?” Smith said. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m a registered nurse,” Emily said. “I know when somebody is dead.”

  “I’m sorry, when did you find him?”

  “About thirty seconds before I phoned you. Can I go now please? I have to try and figure out how to tell an eight year old girl that her daddy is dead.”

  “Ok, but we’ll need to speak with you again.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She walked back to her daughter and they walked off down the street.

  “She seemed very calm,” Yang Chu said when Emily Riley was out of sight. “Considering that she’s just found her husband dead.”

  “Ex-husband,” Smith said. “She’s probably still in shock and she has the unpleasant task of telling her daughter that her Dad is not coming back. Let’s have a look upstairs shall we?”

  They walked back to the Chinese restaurant and went up the stairs to the flat.

  “It stinks in here,” Yang Chu said.

  His shoe got stuck on something on the stairwell.

  “How can people live like this?” He added.

  “Divorce,” Smith said. “He probably doesn’t have much choice.”

  “I’m never getting married.”

  Smith put on a pair of rubber gloves. Yang Chu did the same. Smith slowly opened the door to the flat and looked inside. The smell that oozed out was a mixture of stale whisky and perfume.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Smith said and instantly regretted it.

  Yang Chu knew the drill.

  The curtains were open inside the room. Two glasses stood on a small table opposite the bed. One of them was empty but the other still contained an amber coloured liquid. Christopher Riley lay on the bed.

  “What do you think?” Smith said.

  Yang Chu took a deep breath. This was the first dead body he had been called out to investigate. His eyes seemed drawn to the figure on the bed. He looked around the tiny flat.

  “The curtains are open,” he said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’d say he died during the day,” Yang Chu said. “The curtains would have surely been closed if he had died when it was dark outside.”

  “What else?”

  “He had company,” Yang Chu pointed to the two glasses on the table. “And I’d rule out suicide.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The Christmas present, it has the name Maggie on it. That’s his daughter. No, he didn’t kill himself.”

  “Slow down,” Smith said. “You’ll soon learn not to assume anything in this job. We’ll know more when Webber get’s here. In the meantime, let’s have a word with the people in the Chinese restaurant below.”

  “I hate Chinese food,” Yang Chu said.

  The Big Wok restaurant had just opened its doors when Smith and Yang Chu walked inside. A short thin man in an apron approached them almost immediately.

  “Good day,” he said. “Table for two?”

  “No thanks,” Smith took out his ID. “We’d like to speak to the owner of the restaurant.

  “Problems?” The waiter said.

  “Could we speak to the owner please?”

  “Come through,” the waiter said. “He’s in his office in the back.”

  He led them through to a small office. There was barely room for a desk and a chair, let alone the enormous bulk of human being sitting behind the computer screen. He was typing something with the fattest fingers Smith had ever seen.

  “Mr Yin,” the waiter said. “These men would like to have a word with you. They’re from the police.”

  Yin looked Smith and Yang Chu up and down.

  “What seems to be the problem?” He said in a voice so high that Smith found it hard to suppress a laugh.

  “Mr Yin,” Smith said. “We need to ask you a few questions about the man who rents the flat above your restaurant.”

  “Mr Riley?” Yin squeaked. “Very nice man. Never gives me any trouble. Poor man; he’s very sad after the divorce.”

  “When was the last time you saw Mr Riley?” Yang Chu asked.

  “I hardly ever see him. He pays rent on time. He always pays it straight into the bank. He’s a good tenant.”

  “So you haven’t seen him recently?” Smith said.

  “No, what’s this all about? What’s he done?”

  “He’s dead,” Smith said. “He’s lying dead right above your restaurant. Are you sure you haven’t seen or heard from him in the past few days?”

  “Christmas day,” Yin said as if a sudden memory had come back to him. “I saw him Christmas day. The restaurant was open. He came in to wish me happy Christmas. It was funny. I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

  “What time was this?” Smith said.

  “Around three.”

  “And you haven’t seen him since?”

  “No,” Yin said. “Restaurant closed at ten. I’m sorry he’s dead. He was a good tenant. Never made any noise.”

  “Thank you Mr Yin,” Smith handed him one of his cards. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Borsa

  Sunday 25 August 1991

  “I bought you these,” the big man handed Selene a brown cloak and a silver wristwatch.

  Selene took the cloak and put it on. She stared at the watch. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

  “It knows the phases of the moon,” the man said. “It’s magic. Put it on. See if it fits.”

  Selene fiddled with the strap but she couldn’t quite figure out how the intricate clasps worked. The man took hold of her slender wrist and undid the clasp. She put the watch on her wrist.

  “Do you see that,” he pointed t
o the dial. “That is so you will always know when the moon is at its brightest.”

  Selene gazed at the watch. According to the dial there would be a full moon in approximately two hours time.

  “You’re ready,” the man said. “When you were given to me six years ago, I had my doubts but you’re ready now. You’ve come a long way Selene. Shall we go?”

  By the time they reached the valley, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains in the distance. It was a very hot evening and the goat herders had left their animals on higher ground for the night. Despite the warm temperature, Selene shivered under the thick cloak. It’d been six years since she had hidden in the rocks and watched the sacrifice. Then, she hadn’t been invited - she had been an intruder but now she was a part of it. She was one of them. She stood close to the man in red and watched the figures in brown cloaks as they approached from all directions.

  “Don’t be afraid child,” the big man said. “They are the ones who need to be fearful.”

  The sky was cloudless and the air still as the moon gradually rose above the Carpathian Mountains. It was a perfect night for what lay in store.

  “Stay here,” the man said to Selene. “I have work to do.”

  Selene watched as the big man walked among the crowd and started to speak. The words that came out of his mouth flowed effortlessly off his tongue. He didn’t have to think about what to say - his lips moved on their own. Selene joined the line of cloaked disciples and waited. The man in red stopped in front of a short man a few metres to Selene’s left. The chosen one gasped. Everybody knew what was about to happen. Selene had seen enough. She watched the men in the brown cloaks. All eyes were on the man who’d been chosen. She shuffled back a few metres and waited. Nobody seemed to notice her in her new position. The chanting became louder.

  Now, Selene thought.

  She crept further back and stood up. Then she ran. She ran faster than she had ever managed to run before. She ran towards the mountains in the distance. This time she was going to make it to the other side. She didn’t stop until she was high above the valley. Nobody was following her. She was safe.